


into an ugly black

by sumomomochi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Camboy Kylo Ren, Dom/sub, Dominant Kylo Ren, Enthusiastic Consent, Failed Sex, Loss of Control, M/M, Sex Work, Submissive Armitage Hux, incorrect bdsm, joi (jerk off instruction)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: Phasma had sent him a link in the end, exasperated, and said, "Here, find someone cute to watch." TheIt's somethingwas left unspoken but Armitage heard it loud and clear anyway. Two pages into his search, there's a man in a mask that covers the entirety of his head, posed salaciously on a bed. He's built in just the way Armitage likes, the sheet covering his groin hinting at a glorious cock. He's online so, on a whim, Armitage enters his chat.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 90





	into an ugly black

**Author's Note:**

> slides onto ao3 like it hasn't been two years since they last posted anything with a fic they techinically wrote on twitter in 2019 o shit waddup lets pretend i didn't end up hating this fic for dumb reasons for so long even though its a perfectly acceptable bit of writing
> 
> shout out to cherrymilkshake for editing at some point and to my qpp starcrossedsky for supplying a title in the 9th hour when i was _this close_ to shelving this fic again bc of being too tired to deal with titles. will there be fics from me again at a reasonable pace or will i continue to sit on the......... fiftyish k of wips i have >>;;;;;;;;;; who knows maybe ill say something about PLANS in my ending notes
> 
> also!! heads up for insinuations of hux having a consentual non consent kink as well as sheer dumbfuckery about bdsm in general dont follow these idiots example

This was all Phasma's fault. She had very firmly told him he needed to spend time with someone other than her for once. Ideally, he should also get laid. He had protested her suggestions of dating sites, then hookup apps, then her threats of finding him a prostitute, which he is reasonably sure was only a joke. Reasonably.

She had sent him a link in the end, exasperated, and said, "Here, find someone cute to watch." The _It's something_ was left unspoken but Armitage heard it loud and clear anyway.

He's not terribly keen on watching any of these performers’ streams, just idly scrolling the site to see if there's anyone at all that catches his interest. He doesn't get the appeal of it, doesn't see why someone would willingly be billed per minute to see someone wank.

Two pages into his search, there's a man in a mask that covers the entirety of his head, posed salaciously on a bed, arm cut off in such a way that Armitage is sure this is a selfie. The model is gorgeous though, built in just the way Armitage likes, the sheet covering his groin hinting at a glorious cock. He's online so, on a whim, Armitage enters his chat.

The model is lovely in motion, wearing a t-shirt that has to be intentionally too small to show off his sculpted chest, a thin strip of stomach showing between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his low-slung underwear. The muscles of his arms flex as he types to his other viewers, keys clacking under his fingers. Armitage is curious; he can't deny it. The mask is _odd_. It's _interesting_. Armitage wants to know why this model wears it when he hasn't seen anyone else cover their face. He can't just _ask_ though; that would be rude.

As Armitage watches, the model leans back from his laptop and says, "Thanks, Big Dick Dave," and lifts the bottom hem of his shirt, up high enough to show one pierced nipple. There has to be a microphone in the helmet—the model's deep, lovely voice comes through clearly. It makes Armitage tingle clear down to his toes thinking of that voice whispering filth.

Armitage is enamored. When the video goes dark and a pop up asks him if he wants to go private, he accepts, wanting nothing more than to see more of this gorgeous man.

It's worth it. The model pushes his shirt up under his armpits and tugs his underwear down his thighs, stroking his cock to life. Armitage is struck by the noises the model makes: soft, sweet little sighs of pleasure, the barest whisper of a moan, all loud and clear like he's right there.

Armitage hesitates but does type out a request, a single word: _Louder._

The model laughs softly then Armitage gets a reply: _whats it worth to you?_

Armitage pauses, but he feels he shouldn't be surprised. He is paying someone for this pleasure. It's only fair that he back up his wants with his wallet.

He tips the model, probably too much for something so small, but it's worth it for how the model arches his back and groans, "Fuck." 

It makes Armitage's stomach clench pleasantly. He squeezes his own erection, toes curled against his carpet. 

It takes him hardly any time to get off watching this model, _listening_ to this model. He comes well before the model does and watches in fascination as he continues, on and on, drawing the experience out until he finally paints his hard stomach white.

It's worth it, even if the bill he gets a few hours later makes him cringe.

He returns, over and over again, spending half an hour and a hundred dollars once a week to watch this gorgeous man touch himself for the eyes of others. He debates the exclusive option more than once, wondering if it's worth it. He already spends so much on this site, on just this one model. What more could he get from an exclusive chat? It takes him ages to take the plunge, to commandeer the model's, Kylo's full attention.

He does it eventually and the first thing Kylo does is ask him, "Do you want to turn on your cam?"

That's one of the specificities on Kylo's profile: he'll only accept requests to share a patron's cam in exclusive chats. Armitage assumes it's to incentivize people to take on the extra expense of exclusive. That's not why Armitage is here. He types _No._ and Kylo nods twice, his mask tipping up and down almost comically. Armitage has gotten used to the mask; he still thinks it's stupid looking, but worth it for the man hiding behind it.

"What do you want to do then?" Kylo asks.

_To watch you, of course._

"You could have done that in a regular private chat."

_I want you all to myself._

Kylo laughs and asks, "Are you jealous?"

_No, you're not my boyfriend. You can do whatever you please._

Armitage supposes he was too quick to answer because Kylo immediately purrs, "You are, aren't you?" like he knows Armitage better than their limited interactions would allow.

He's not wrong but Armitage tries very hard to be better than that. There's no point in being jealous.

_I don't share well._ Armitage types after a moment.

"Jealous," Kylo sings. He's obviously amused and Armitage feels he should be upset but he's not. He enjoys it, enjoys that Kylo is bold enough to tease him like this.

Armitage doesn't always select the exclusive option after that, but he does it often enough that Kylo starts greeting him by his screen name rather quickly. He learns all sorts of interesting new things, horrible filthy things; quite a bit is not to his taste, things to be tolerated to view Kylo as he caters to others, but every now and then, Armitage gets to listen to Kylo order him about a bit, telling him exactly how he should stroke his cock in that gorgeous, deep voice.

He's just stopped asking if Armitage wants to share his own cam in exclusive when Armitage finally has the guts to. He can't quite tell if Kylo is surprised by the request or not, not with that bucket in the way. There is the slightest pause, the slightest hesitation, before Kylo says, "There's nothing to be nervous about, General. You're prettier than most of the people I cam for by far."

Armitage flushes and says, "Piss off," automatically, bristling at being called _pretty_.

"Oh, you're British too," Kylo says, amused, "That's hot."

Armitage covers his face and groans, making Kylo laugh, brilliant and bright. This was a mistake. Kylo still sounds pleased when he asks, "JOI, like usual?" though he thankfully doesn't press the teasing any further.

"Please."

"It'll be nice actually seeing you follow my directions," Kylo says, like he gets something out of this besides money.

Kylo's jerk off instruction is always glorious, the filthy instructions in his deep, lovely voice soothing and almost hypnotic. All he has to do is follow along. It never fails to make him come hard. He's forgotten he shared his cam with Kylo by the end of it, until Kylo sighs, "Fuck, look at you. Fucking gorgeous." Armitage flushes and exits the chat.

Phasma convinces him to go out for drinks not long after.

"I suppose I can't be _upset_ that you've done as I told you," she says, "but I really would have rather you to involve yourself with someone face to face. You can't even _see_ his face!"

Armitage sighs. He really regrets sharing that bit of information with her. His best friend his arse, which she is a complete pain in.

"Why not flirt with someone in real life?" she asks. "There's beefcake here."

She's undoubtedly pleased to be bothering him. He won't show any weakness about this, won't give in. Then she points over his shoulder and he makes the mistake of looking back and, fuck, he does quite like what he sees at the bar: tall and thick with broad, muscular shoulders stretching a t-shirt dangerously and legs that go on forever. His hair is void black in the low light of the bar where it doesn't reflect the red and blue of the neon sign next to him, long and swept back from his face. It tumbles down to those fantastic shoulders in waves, perfect for pulling. 

He looks over his own shoulder like he can sense he's being looked at and Phasma laughs, saying, "Fuck, it's Senator Organa's son. You should definitely go flirt."

Armitage rolls his eyes.

"You should!" she says. "Your type _and_ tangentially famous? Climb that fucker like a tree, Tidge. Do it for me."

"No," Armitage says, voice clipped, even though he really wants to. Not for Phasma—fuck that; she doesn't get to dictate how he lives his life. He wants to because this man is absolutely gorgeous. He just wishes, ever so slightly, that Phasma hadn't pointed him out, that he had seen this man in his own time, so that if he _does_ go and chat him up, Phasma doesn't lord it over him for ages. He can't go flirt now because she absolutely will tease him about it for said ages. They'll be seventy and she'll bring it up again, _Do you remember the time at the bar with the beefcake?_

It's tragic. Ugh.

He does, however, scoot around the booth to sit where he can watch Organa's son sip his beer and write, apparently, scribbling in a little notebook next to his coaster. He shouldn't have, because Phasma teases him about this too, but it's worth it to watch the muscles in his back shift and his arm flex. Armitage can just make out his face in the mirror behind the bar, in between bottle necks, and it's a lovely face, interesting the way he likes, unconventional. His eyes are dark; like his hair, they're void black in the low light of the bar, but soft and sweet still, especially combined with his plush mouth. Armitage thinks he would look lovely on his knees with that mouth on Armitage's cock, looking up at him with those doe eyes.

"You're fantasizing," Phasma says, smug. "Just go talk to him. Maybe your fantasies can become reality."

Armitage heaves a sigh and repeats, "No."

He just watches the man for a long while, waiting for Phasma to get tired of her teasing. She leaves briefly to visit the loo and the man closes his notebook, swallowing the last of his beer. Armitage is disappointed that he's leaving, that he won't be able to watch him longer.

The man doesn't leave though, not yet. He makes his way over to Armitage. The way he has to weave through tables makes Armitage think that maybe he's _not_ , that he’s headed somewhere else, but then he stops right in front of the booth Armitage is in and says, "Didn't your mom ever tell you it's rude to stare?"

"Piss off," Armitage says, because he's an unending _prick_ just at all times. The man laughs though, and slides into the booth across from him.

"Nah," he says. "There's obviously a reason you're staring. Is it ‘cause I killed your cat in third grade? Ran over your granny? Or is it ‘cause you think I'm hot?"

Armitage groans. _Of course_ he's a conceited arsehole; Armitage is only attracted to that sort somehow.

The man laughs again, warm and brilliant and bright, and Armitage falls for him, just a little bit. He thinks maybe he could tolerate the ego if only for that laugh. That is, if this man also has a glorious cock. That is a requirement for dealing with an arsehole.

"Well?" the man asks.

Armitage glares daggers at him but does give in, admitting, "Fine, you're quite fit. Happy?"

He grins, looking ready to devour Armitage.

"Thanks," he says, pausing before he adds, "I feel like I know you from somewhere. I'm Ben."

That is the worst fucking line Armitage has ever heard, and he tells Ben that, saying, "If you want to fuck me, just _say it_."

"Fine," Ben says, "but I don't fuck people whose name I don't know."

Armitage scowls, but does introduce himself.

"You're pretty bad at this whole flirting thing," Ben says conversationally, as though he's pointing out the weather.

"Yes, thank you, I'm aware."

Ben laughs again, grin crooked, warming Armitage's cold, dead heart.

"Conveniently, so am I," Ben says. "You wanna get out of here?"

Armitage is baffled by how straight forward this man is, getting right to the point of things with the precision of a sniper. He stares at him for a long moment, then spots Phasma over Ben's shoulder. She shoots him a double thumbs up then makes a shooing motion. Armitage sighs.

"Yes, fine, alright," he says. Ben snorts.

"You sure are excited about this, aren't you?" Ben teases. Armitage glares at Phasma over Ben's shoulder and Ben raises his hands, palms out, laughing as he says, "Hey now, we can hate fuck. I'm down for something rough and nasty."

"It's not you," Armitage snaps.

"Well, you're sure making it _seem_ like me," Ben says back, hard enough to belay his irritation even after his previous joke. Armitage sighs again.

"My friend is behind you, being a shit," he says. Ben turns to look back and Phasma waves at them cheekily from the bar.

Ben laughs again, irritation dissipating, asking, "Wingman?" as he settles back in his seat.

"Something like that, I guess," Armitage says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"At least she's encouraging."

"I mean, I guess."

Ben laughs some more and fuck, that laugh. Ben's voice on its own is glorious, rich and deep. It sends tingles all down Armitage's spine. Ben's laugh in addition is absolutely fantastic, bright and warm with just a touch of sharpness, hinting at a mean sense of humour. Armitage can tell that Ben is laughing at him, just a little.

"Are you going to be teased if you come home with me?" Ben asks.

"Mercilessly," Armitage tells him. "I'm trying to decide if it's worth it."

"It'll be worth it, I promise," Ben says, then he grins and flicks the tip of his tongue out to lick his full upper lip, showing the barbel through it.

Armitage has to suppress a shiver. He says, "Alright," and it actually comes out nonchalant like he intends instead of halfway to desperate like he feels. Ben grins, looking like he's going to eat Armitage for dinner.

"Good," he says, then stands. Armitage follows his lead, firmly ignoring how Phasma watches them as they leave.

"Your place or mine?" Ben purrs, practically eyefucking Armitage there on the pavement. 

"I live rather far away," Armitage admits. This is Phasma's neighborhood, not his.

"Mine then. I'm just a couple of blocks down the road."

"Alright," Armitage says, and with that, Ben leads the way.

Ben's apartment isn't quite what Armitage expected, given his parentage. It's nice still, but modest. They enter into a little living room with bookshelves against every available wall and a sagging couch. The kitchen to the left isn't precisely clean but it's not dirty either. It's lived in and speaks volumes as to Ben's personality.

"I wouldn't have taken you to be such a voracious reader," Armitage says offhand.

"Sometimes you need to escape," Ben replies, almost cold, like he's defending his hobby against malicious scrutiny.

"What do you read?" Armitage asks.

"Everything," Ben tells him. "Mostly scifi and fantasy though."

"I read a lot of nonfiction. Military history and the like," Armitage tells him, wanting to bond for some bizarre reason.

"Nerd," Ben teases, but he has that lovely grin tilting his sweet mouth again, so it's worth it.

"You're one to talk," Armitage says wryly, tit for tat.

Ben just _looks_ at him with that brilliant, warm grin, then says, "Kiss me already."

"Alright."

Ben's mouth is just as soft as it looks, yielding easily against Armitage's own lips. Armitage buries his hands in Ben's hair, holding Ben tight just where he wants him. Ben's hands settle on Armitage's hips, grip firm. Armitage has to fight not to kiss Ben desperately. He _feels_ desperate, overwhelmed with want for this man, overwhelmed that he's touching someone else intimately for the first time in far too long. He hopes to Hell that Ben can't tell or, at the very least, won't care.

He parts his lips and Ben follows suit, groaning when Armitage invades his mouth with his tongue. It makes Armitage's toes curl in his oxfords and he has a flash of deja vu, that sound startlingly familiar.

Ben pulls back just the slightest bit to murmur, "What do you wanna do?"

"You, ideally."

Ben snorts and kisses Armitage again, a hard peck.

"Well, _yeah_ ," he says. "Want me to give you joy?"

Armitage's eyebrows furrow.

"Joy?"

"You know," Ben says, voice low, "jerk off instruction."

Armitage shoves him away and bites out, "How do you know about that?"

Ben laughs, grinning that roguish grin.

"What, don't you recognize me, General?"

He lifts the hem of his shirt and that action is _too familiar_. He shows off one pierced nipple and a collection of dark moles and a trail of black hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans and Armitage has seen all this before.

"Kylo?"

"Got it in one," Ben, _Kylo_ says, winking. "I knew you were smart. Proud of you."

Armitage gapes, unable to believe the mess he's found himself in.

" _How_?" he demands.

Kylo, _Ben_ looks positively devilish as he shrugs, casual and nonchalant, as if he's discussing his weekend plans instead of his secret identity.

"I recognized you," he says, "from our last session when you turned on your cam. I wasn't kidding when I said you're the prettiest person I've cammed for. You are." He shrugs again, just a little twitch of his shoulders as one eyebrow raises, his eyes closing in a slow blink, utterly _relaxed_. "When I saw you, I knew I had to talk to you. I knew I had to get you to come home with me. I had to know if you're as pretty when you come in real life as you are on camera."

Armitage _stares_ , convinced he's had some sort of stroke and this is just an elaborate fantasy his comatose brain has come up with. Ben steps in close again and nudges his knuckles against the underside of Armitage's chin, closing his mouth for him, teeth clicking together. He's smirking, like Armitage's shock is the funniest thing.

"You wanna?" he asks, placing the pad of his thumb against Armitage's lower lip. Armitage licks his lips on instinct, tongue inadvertently brushing Ben's thumb. Ben presses, "Well?"

"This isn't real," Armitage murmurs. Ben snorts and fucking _pinches him_ , right on the dip of his waist, _hard_. Armitage slaps his hand away and goes, "Ouch! You fuck!"

"Well, you're not dreaming now, are you?" Ben asks, amused because he's an _arse_.

"You can't honestly believe God is kind enough to drop you, my favourite camboy, whom I have spent the better part of half a _fucking_ year masturbating to, directly into my lap the first time I allow my friend to drag me out to a bar in ages. The world doesn't work like that. Not for me anyway."

Ben leans in, holding Armitage's face just so, to press their lips back together in a gentle kiss. Armitage can tastes the pity. He breaks out of Ben's grip, scowling.

"I didn't think the universe would be kind enough to allow me to meet someone I've had a huge crush on from the instant I set eyes on them online, but yet here you are," Ben murmurs, nose against Armitage's cheek.

"Don't be such a sap," Armitage grumbles. "You're not my boyfriend."

"I could be," Ben says softly, just his tone utterly tempting. Armitage would quite enjoy keeping this man all to himself but he can't quite separate Ben from his online camboy persona. It's odd being here with him in person, having Kylo touch him and talk to him and _want_ him, odd to have Kylo's attention focused on him without the barrier of technology. 

Ben must notice how stiff he is, tense from the revelation that he's been watching Ben masturbate online consistently for longer than he'd care to admit, because he strokes Armitage's cheek gently and tells him, "I'm really into you. If you don't want to do anything, that's fine, but you're really hot and I want to put my hands all over you. You'll like it, I promise. I'll be so good to you. Let me have you, if only for tonight."

"I'm not some _thing_ to be had," Armitage snaps, pushing at Ben's solid chest, even though deep down he's thrilled by how direct Ben is, how demanding he is, how _possessive_ he is. He'll struggle because he has a sense of pride but he already knows he'll give in, has known that since Ben first asked him to leave the bar.

Ben, for some unfathomable reason, steps away and says, "Okay." Armitage stares at him, gaping, and he chuckles and adds, "What, did I not do what you expected?"

"You're—I thought—you were supposed to, to _ravish_ me or something!" Armitage says, refusing to stamp his foot for emphasis like a child throwing a tantrum. "That does seem like something you would do."

Ben just looks at him with that rogue's grin and says, "Real life isn't like a bodice ripper you know."

"I know _that_!" Armitage snaps, glaring because that's the only way he's able to meet Ben's eyes. He can still feel how his cheeks have warmed, betraying him.

"Do you want me to ravish you?" Ben asks, sounding entirely too smug. Armitage doesn't answer, simply glaring harder, _blushing_ harder. Ben tips his head to the side thoughtfully and says, "You do, don't you?"

"Piss off," Armitage grumbles, looking away.

"You do!" Ben sings. 

He comes in close, looming over Armitage, who has never before felt so small, so vulnerable, than he does now faced with Ben's predatory scrutiny. Ben touches Armitage's cheek again then shoves him playfully, crowding him back against the wall he's next to. Armitage's breath hitches, his cock utterly pleased, much to his chagrin. Ben pins him against the wall with his body, pressed against him, immovable. He presses a soft kiss against the edge of Armitage's jaw and murmurs, "What do you want?"

"What do you think?" Armitage snaps, unable to help himself. Ben hums thoughtfully and rolls his hips against Armitage's, the friction glorious, the feel of Ben's cock against his _glorious_. Armitage swallows hard against the groan that threatens to crawl from his throat, refusing to voice his pleasure.

"Use your words," Ben admonishes. "Tell me what you want."

Armitage's licks his lips nervously before seeking out Ben's mouth with his own, turning his head to kiss the corner of it. Ben meets him in the middle, letting Armitage kiss him aggressively, his desperation finally bleeding through.

Ben presses his tongue into Armitage's mouth, tasting the back of his teeth, consuming him as he buries his hands in Ben's hair. It's so soft and so thick, just right for tugging on, just like he thought. He pulls a little and Ben groans, rocking their hips together again.

"Just say it," Ben says, voice low, dangerous. "Just say you want me. I know you do."

"It should be obvious what I want," Armitage says, sour. 

Ben kisses him again, hard, before telling him, "I want to hear you say it."

Armitage sighs and Ben scowls.

"Excuse me for wanting enthusiastic consent," Ben grumbles. Armitage pulls him closer when he tries to pull away.

"I'm not used to... this," he says. "Verbalizing it."

Ben pauses to look at him before leaning into his touch again, going, "Oh," softly. He kisses Armitage again and the hunger is still there, lurking, but it's so much more tender. Pitying almost, so Armitage nips at his lips. 

It doesn't help.

Ben tucks his nose against the corner of Armitage's jaw as he holds him close, breathing him in, seemingly wanting to just be near. He holds Armitage like he's a lover who's been away too long and Armitage _hates it_. 

"I’m leaving if you just want a cuddle," Armitage tells him.

Ben huffs a laugh, his breath tickling Armitage's neck, and says, "Asshole."

"I'm serious. I'm not interested in something soft. Fuck me like you mean it or this isn't happening at all."

"And what is this exactly?" Ben asks him, nose still buried in where he applied his cologne this morning. He sounds amused again, taunting Armitage.

Armitage huffs, frustrated.

"Sex," he says, "obviously."

"Nothing more?" Ben asks. He _still_ sounds amused even though he probably shouldn't.

"No!"

"You sure?" Ben presses. Armitage can feel his smirk against his skin. "You _have_ spent a whole lot of time watching me jerk off."

"I don't know you! You don't know _me_!" 

Ben kisses Armitage's neck and says, "I know a little. I know that you're gorgeous. I know that you haven't fucked someone in awhile. I know losing control is hard for you." He tilts his head to put his lips against Armitage's ear, murmuring, sultry, "I know you like my voice."

Armitage scoffs but can’t suppress his shiver. He _does_ , Lord help him. The rest of what Ben said is all true too. Ben has picked up on quite a bit about him without him saying hardly a thing and he knows next to nothing about Ben in turn. It's not _fair_.

"What are you, some sort of psychic?" Armitage grumbles, because he is completely incapable of being nice ever, at all. Ben huffs a laugh and noses at Armitage's ear, flicking his tongue against the lobe of it.

"No," he says. "You're just not as good at keeping secrets as you think. You broadcast and, if you know what to look for, you're easy to read."

Armitage sighs hard through his nose and tugs on Ben's hair, carefully but firm enough to guide Ben's head back. Ben lets Armitage crane his head back, looking down his long nose at Armitage with his doe eyes. In proper lighting, Armitage sees they're a warm brown, golden honey rich where the light glows on them. Armitage can see Ben's soul hiding behind them, something dark and mean lurking, just like Armitage himself.

In that moment, Armitage falls in love with him, just a little bit. He's the perfect counterbalance to Armitage, sharp like Armitage but relaxed in a way that Armitage really isn't. Armitage doesn't know much about this man but he can tell that he follows his heart, wherever it may lead, contrary to how Armitage stubbornly thinks entirely through a situation before making any decisions. 

Opposites attract and all that bullshit. Ugh.

Armitage presses his lips together in a tight scowl before he says, "Weren't you supposed to be ravishing me?"

Ben smiles and palms Armitage's arse in his big hands, pulling their hips tighter together.

"Is that what you truly want?" Ben asks.

" _Yes_."

"Okay," Ben says, hands coming up to pull Armitage's fingers from his hair. He's gentle about it, calm, the center eye of the hurricane ripping through Armitage. He guides Armitage's hands to his shoulders and ever so slowly drops down, keeping his eyes on Armitage's. Armitage licks his lips, his cock throbbing at the sight, at the _thought_ of Ben on his knees in front of him. Ben's hands smooth from Armitage's waist down to the waistband of his trousers and Armitage is so utterly convinced he's about to be blown by that sinful mouth that the shoulder to his gut catches him completely by surprise. He thought that Ben was going to press his lips to Armitage's hip first, that Ben was going to draw things out teasingly slow like he will sometimes in his shows. 

Instead, Armitage is thrown over Ben's shoulder, gasping, clutching at Ben's waist while upside down and eye level with Ben's arse. He does not like this, not one bit.

He holds perfectly still as Ben carts him off, a hand wrapped around the back of Armitage's thighs, holding him secure. He doesn't feel like he'll fall but he most definitely did not mean for this to happen when he said he wanted Ben to ravish him.

He's rolled gently off Ben's shoulder onto Ben's unmade bed, directly where Ben must sleep, the blankets nested around this one spot. He stares at Ben wide eyed while Ben serenely pulls off one of Armitage's shoes, then the other.

“What the actual _fuck_?” Armitage demands. Ben just smirks at him, parting Armitage’s ankles to slide between his knees. He runs his hands up Armitage’s thighs, palms brushing over Armitage’s throbbing cock as he undoes Armitage’s belt, then his trousers before tugging them down. Armitage bites his lip and lifts his hips, letting Ben strip him. His heart is hammering in his chest; he has no idea what Ben will do to him next, if he’ll be soft and sweet or if he’ll use his size and strength to overwhelm him.

Ben wraps the end of Armitage’s tie around his fist and pulls, guiding Armitage up onto his elbows. Ben cranes over him, leaning down to kiss him. His mouth is gentle against Armitage’s, so at odds with the the grip he has on Armitage’s tie. Armitage is pinned, stuck precisely where Ben wants him like a butterfly in a shadow box, his trousers caught around his thighs where Ben stands.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Ben murmurs against Armitage’s lips. Armitage’s breath hitches. He doesn’t often bottom—Ben was absolutely right when he said Armitage doesn’t like to give up control so he has a hard time lying back and taking it—but a shiver racks his body at the thought. Armitage can feel Ben’s smirk when he says, “You do, don’t you?”

“What do you think?” Armitage bites out. Ben palms Armitage’s arse with his free hand, squeezing where cheek meets thigh.

“Just tell me what you want,” Ben says. His words themselves are soft but his tone is mean, like he’s threatening to just leave if Armitage doesn’t do as he’s told.

Armitage fights him anyway, rolling his eyes and huffing as sarcastically as he can manage, “Why yes, I am so utterly overwhelmed by your manly demeanor that I do want you to fuck me like the wilting virgin I am.”

Ben snorts and drops Armitage’s tie. Armitage droops without the pull and stares bewildered as Ben steps away completely.

“What are you doing?” Armitage asks, the words popping unbidden out of his mouth. He hates that he’s worried Ben will lose interest, will kick him out with no resolution to this thing that they’re doing. He hates that Ben joked about this becoming real, that Ben joked about being Armitage’s boyfriend but Armitage hates that he’s thrilled by the possibility of that even more.

Ben opens the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a bottle, wiggling it at Armitage smugly. Armitage’s guts clench pleasantly and Ben comes back, setting a condom on the bed next to Armitage before he pulls Armitage’s trousers off the rest of the way. Armitage struggles out of his underwear as well, eager and anxious all at once. He’s seen Ben’s cock before. He knows what it looks like, how big it is, how _thick_ it is. He knows that, if Ben does fuck him, he’ll feel it for days, a lingering reminder of what has happened.

Armitage isn’t a size queen by any means. He hardly ever puts anything up his arse but he _does_ like tangible proof of the sex he’s had, scratches and love bites and yes, on occasion, the burn of being well fucked and he _knows_ Ben’s cock will burn. He’s given up control to Ben before, to Kylo, online as Kylo tells him precisely how to touch himself. He never thought he’d like JOI, had never even heard of it previously, but another patron of Kylo’s requested it and it was a revelation.

Ben pulls Armitage’s bare arse to the very edge of the bed, tucking Armitage’s knees against his shoulders. He slicks the fingers of his dominant hand, face soft and serene, metititve. Armitage swallows hard as Ben brings that hand down, touching wet fingertips to Armitage’s hole.

“Is this okay?” Ben asks and Armitage knows it’s a serious question, that what happens next depends solely on how Armitage replies. He takes a deep breath, bites his lip, and nods. With that, Ben pushes a finger into him.

It’s thick, like everything else about Ben, and reaches so far into Armitage he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue. Ben’s cock will be worse; it will be, without a doubt, utterly overwhelming. 

Armitage finds that he can’t wait.

And then Ben murmurs, “Touch yourself.”

Armitage’s thighs quiver as he brings a hand down to his cock, squeezing it.

“Follow my lead,” Ben continues, pulling his finger out slowly. Armitage’s hand stutters over his cock, pulling up then sliding back down as Ben pushes in again.

“Good,” Ben breathes. He has the same soothing, hypnotic tone as when he’s giving JOI online that always hits Armitage hard. It’s like a massage; Armitage is always tense and unwilling going into it, but he knows by the end, he’ll be utterly relaxed. 

Ben adds a second finger on his next press in and Armitage makes a tiny, pitiful peep in the back of his throat. Ben’s gaze flicks up from focused on Armitage’s dick to Armitage’s face, eyebrows furrowing.

“You okay?” Ben asks.

Armitage bites out a strangled, “Fine,” immediately and Ben rolls his eyes.

“Are you?”

“ _Yes_ , God,” Armitage grumbles.

“You just haven’t been fucked in a long time, huh?”

The way Armitage flushes violently as he scowls must be answer enough as Ben crows with delighted laughter.

“Oh man, I’m flattered,” he says, pushing in with a third finger, stretching Armitage impossibly wide, making him have to fight to stay relaxed enough to allow the intrusion.

“Yes, alright, good for you,” Armitage snipes.

Ben squeezes Armitage’s thigh and says, “I am. Do you have any idea how bad I want to fuck you? Your cam came on and I immediately wanted you then but when you came? Fuck, you looked so good, so fucking good. I couldn’t help but need to see you come like that while speared on my cock.”

“Good for you,” Armitage repeats.

“Do you want that?” Ben asks, serious and intense and mocking all at once. “Do you want me to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget the feel of me in you? Do you want me to fill you up so good you’ll always feel empty without me?”

Armitage heaves a sigh and tilts his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

“You’re a fucking serial killer, aren’t you?” he asks. Ben laughs and Armitage continues, looking back at him, “You are, aren’t you? You’re going to kill me while you fuck me and get your rocks off to my dead body and then burry me in the woods, aren’t you?”

Ben looks so utterly _pleased_ , grinning like Armitage just said the sweetest things to him because he is, apparently, a _freak_.

“I’ll visit you every day and tuck fresh flowers into your pretty hair,” Ben replies. “Until you’ve decomposed to where you don’t really have any hair left, that is.”

Armitage groans and Ben cackles, absolutely delighted.

“At least when you murder me, I won’t have to deal with Phasma’s teasing.”

Ben’s answering grin is devious, then he spreads the fingers still buried in Armitage’s arse, making Armitage’s breath hitch around a groan.

“That’s looking on the bright side,” Ben says. He pulls his fingers out slowly and Armitage is sure he’s going to replace them with his cock, but then he pushes back in and says, “You’re not following my lead anymore.”

Armitage’s stomach jumps at the admonishment and he squeezes his dick, which is, despite all the talk about murder, still achingly hard.

“Good,” Ben croons, fucking Armitage gently with his fingers, watching as Armitage strokes his cock in time with his careful thrusts. Ben slides his free hand down Armitage’s bare thigh, over the bend of his hip, up his side, the touch careful and reverent. He pushes Armitage’s shirt up, baring more of his skin for Ben’s hungry eyes. Armitage shivers.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” he demands.

“Is that what you want?” Ben asks.

“What do you think?”

Ben leans in and presses his fingers up, searching, brushing Armitage’s prostate in a way that he’s sure is intentional judging by his sharp grin.

“ _Say it_.”

Armitage positively trembles at the force behind Ben’s soft words, precome oozing from his cock to slick his fingers.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses back, angry. “I want you to fuck me.”

Ben straightens and his intensity fades like it was never there, like they’re just two people having supremely casual sex, none of this mocking forced consent or devious intents involved.

“Okay,” he chirps, innocent and sweet and absolutely bloody terrifying.

Ben pulls his fingers from Armitage’s arse a little too quickly, making him gasp at the loss. He can feel Ben’s hands moving behind the wall of his thighs, Ben unbuttoning his jeans to release his monstrous cock. It brushes against Armitage, slick at the head and burning hot, and Armitage almost wants to tell Ben to forget the condom and lube and just shove it in him already. He’s achingly desperate, wanting nothing more than to finally be fucked by this man he’s been obsessed with for eons. He chews on his lip instead, locking his ill advised wants behind his teeth.

Ben sighs as he rolls the condom down his length and the sound makes Armitage’s toes curl. He can imagine what Ben’s hand on his cock looks like when he slicks himself, their previous online interactions vivid in his mind. He’s taking his sweet time about it too even though he’s said multiple times now that he’s wanted to fuck Armitage since he first saw him because he is absolutely bloody insufferable.

“Hey,” Ben says, softly, gently, the head of his cock bumping the back of Armitage’s thigh. “Look at me.”

Armitage’s eyes flick up from staring unfocused at Ben’s chest (black t-shirt, no logo, hiding gloriously sculpted pecs and those pierced nipples, an absolute shame, why is it there?) to settle on his face. He looks soft and sweet for a moment, unguarded, before he grins and rubs the burning heat of his cock against Armitage’s hole, teasing him.

“How bad do you want me?” Ben asks. Armitage just scowls, making Ben laugh and press, “Well?”

“I’m letting you fuck me, aren’t I?” Armitage says.

“Yeah,” Ben says, chipper. “That must mean you’re pretty fucking desperate for me, huh?” Armitage thinks that’ll be the end of it as Ben pushes in slowly, just the tip, just a taste of it. Then he pulls back the scant centimeters needed so that just the reservoir of the condom touches Armitage and asks, “How long have you wanted my cock?” 

He bumps the head of his dick against Armitage as punctuation, sliding over his hole and up his taint. Armitage groans. This is absolutely torturous, Ben’s mean, teasing humour butting heads with his own inability to simply state what he wants when asked. If Ben doesn’t truly kill him, he may just die on his own, suffocating under the weight of his stubbornness. What a way to die, pantsless in a stranger’s bed with his dick leaking in his hand.

“Tell me,” Ben says, that overwhelming intensity back in his lovely voice, “do you think of me when you jerk off on your own, outside of our chats?”

Armitage’s face burns with shame at the question, horribly embarrassed because he _has_.

“Tell me,” Ben continues, nudging his dick back into Armitage’s slick hole, “have you imagined this before? Fantasized about me fucking you like this?”

Armitage, impossibly, flushes harder, caught like Ben is able to pluck memories straight from his brain.

“Tell me,” Ben says once again, voice low and dangerous, hypnotic, “how bad do you want me?”

Armitage keens pitifully, thighs trembling where his legs are folded against Ben’s chest, body tight as he pants. Ben pushes into him, just enough to give Armitage a taste of the burn Ben’s cock will leave him with, and Armitage wants him _so much_. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, pretending that he’s not whining like a dog. He’s burning up, his prick branding his palm as the head of Ben’s cock slowly breaches him, lighting the fuse in him that’s far too short for his liking. He’s already so close, shaking with the force of his arousal.

“Hey,” Ben says, voice soft, gentle, with none of that cruelty from just before. “Look at me.”

Armitage doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to see the way Ben’s looking at him, doesn’t want to know if he’s hungry or [???] or pitying. Ben strokes Armitage’s hip with the thumb of the hand cradling him and it’s so _gentle_ it hurts. He doesn’t move an inch more than that, just the careful swipe of his thumb across Armitage’s skin, scalding him. He waits, patient, until Armitage can’t bear to disobey any longer and peels his eyes open, focusing on Ben’s lovely face.

“Thank you,” Ben breathes. Armitage whimpers and hates himself while Ben squeezes his hip and asks, “Is this what you want?”

He sounds so _caring_ , his back and forth between vicious and _this_ giving Armitage whiplash. Armitage’s eyes burn suddenly and he _hates_ it, hates Ben, hates _himself_ , hates this miserable life he has that’s lead him to this very moment where he can’t even handle a little sex without being overwhelmed. He makes another little peep as he tries to force _something_ out, sarcasm or begging, it doesn’t matter at this point. Nothing comes out and he hiccoughs a bitter laugh as he looks away.

“You okay?” Ben asks, still so sweet, like it truly matters.

Armitage wills his hammering heart to calm down, for his breathing to even out, for his limbs to stop shaking, and then it clicks.

“I’m in subspace,” he blurts, awed. He’s familiar with it, has read about it, has seen others in it, but he’s never experienced it for himself. It feels almost like his first panic attack, scary and overwhelming, and he wants to cry but he’s still so hard.

“Okay,” Ben says simply, fully accepting. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,” Armitage says, before immediately changing his mind, going, “No,” then, “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Ben says again, before carefully pulling away, letting Armitage’s legs down. Armitage whimpers and Ben goes, “Hey now, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Can you sit up for me?”

Armitage’s face crumples as he does as he’s asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s not quite crying but his lip quivers like he’s four again and trying to tough out a scraped knee and he _hates it_.

“Good, thank you,” Ben says, stroking Armitage’s cheek before his hands drop to Armitage’s tie, undoing the knot with careful fingers. It gets pulled from Armitage’s collar, then Ben starts on the buttons of his shirt. He shrugs out of it when Ben indicates he should, chest tight as he lifts his arms for Ben to pull off his undershirt as well. His clothes get dropped carelessly to the floor which he’d protest under normal circumstances nbut he’s miserable and he’s an _idiot_ so it doesn’t really matter, does it?

Ben kisses his forehead, hand on his cheek again, before he says, “Lay down, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Ben watches to make sure Armitage lies back, covering him carefully with the blanket, hands lingering on his body, before he leaves. Armitage curls up, burying his face in Ben’s pillow. Ben’s bed smells so strongly of him, hair product and soap and sweat. It reminds him that he’s in a stranger’s space, alone and at Ben’s mercy. 

The overhead light gets flicked off, Ben’s room darkening to just the glow from the front room coming through the door, then there’s the clink of a glass on the side table, then the shuffle of clothing being removed. Ben clambers over Armitage’s side to crawl under the covers next to him, fingers touching Armitage’s cheek once more. Armitage swallows thickly and doesn’t look at him.

“I got you some water,” Ben says. “It’s there whenever you’re ready for it.”

Armitage should thank him or argue that he’s fine or _something_. All he can manage is to nod, two careful tips of his head to avoid letting any emotions overflow. Ben keeps the hand on his cheek. Armitage can’t believe Ben’s still touching him, still wants to be around him after he went and spoiled the moment.

“Can I hold you?” Ben asks and Armitage laughs another short, bitter laugh. Ben sounds carefully neutral when he adds, “You can say no, but I think it would be good for both of us.”

The thing is, Armitage doesn’t _want_ to say no. He feels positively _wretched_ , miserable and overwhelmed, and he does not enjoy it one bit. Things were going _well_ until all of a sudden it was too much. He doesn’t want to cry in front of a veritable stranger but the burning in his eyes threatens that he might. Physical comfort might help, even if he’s never been terribly comfortable with it.

He takes the plunge and scoots closer. Ben takes the hint immediately and wraps his arm around Armitage’s waist, reeling him in and tucking him under his chin. Armitage breathes in the smell of Ben, warm skin and faint savoury cologne. He wills himself to relax, to calm down, to quit freaking out. Once he’s regained his composure, he can leave and pretend this never happened. 

“Do you know what set you off?” Ben asks, voice soft as he strokes Armitage’s back. Armitage shakes his head _no_ and Ben says, “Okay,” like it truly is, like he’s not bothered that Armitage dissolved into this _mess_ and ruined the evening.

There’s a long stretch of silence where the only noise is the sound of cars going by on the street below the window and Armitage’s own shaky breathing. Ben breaks it an eon later, going, “I should have taken it a little slower with you since we’re new to each other and you like to be in control. I got excited and pushed you too far too quickly. I’m sorry.”

That breaks the dam Armitage has built inside himself. He sobs and burrows against Ben, throwing an arm around his ribs to pull them tight together. Ben cradles the back of Armitage’s head in one big hand while Armitage cries into his throat, “ _You’re_ sorry? _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. _I_ ruined this, not you!”

Ben hushes him.

“Subspace and subdrop are both completely normal things. We both fucked up and didn’t think things through. It’s okay. It happens sometimes. You got really into it and the experience was too much. It’s _okay_. We just have to make sure to take care of ourselves for a little. Hopefully, we can avoid dropping too hard.”

Ben’s lovely, careful words and the way he phrases things to include both of them instead of putting all the focus on Armitage’s failings makes Armitage fall for him just a little more and he _hates_ it. He doesn’t want to _fall in love_ at all, especially not with someone he just met! He’s fine on his own, self sufficient.

Except, a little voice in the back of his mind goes, wouldn’t it be nice to be held like this whenever he wanted? Wouldn’t it be nice to have sex whenever he wanted, to fuck and be fucked whenever he wanted? Wouldn’t it be nice to be cared for the way Ben is pretending to care for him now?

The burning want to have this all the time makes him cry harder, clutching at Ben as his entire world comes crashing down. He was fine, he truly was. He was over relationships, confident he’d never find someone who would accept him for who he is, but here is this stranger, holding him as he cries when they should be having phenominal sex. It’s _bullshit_ and he _hates it_.

Except he doesn’t, not really. Ben pets the back of Armitage’s head, thick fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and just lets Armitage work through his emotions. He’s once more the calm eye of the hurricane ripping through Armitage, serene at the center of Armitage’s world, and Armitage finds, deep down, he rather likes it. He’s so used to being in control that this complete _loss_ of it is cathartic. He doesn’t _have_ to be in control; he can let Ben take care of him because Ben _will_ with absolutely no hesitation. 

His sobs slow until he’s cried out, his breathing uneven but his eyes mostly dry once more. It doesn’t take him long to calm down with Ben there though he feels worn out after, drained completely and made anew. Ben doesn’t say anything until Armitage sniffs and sighs, pulling away enough to scrub the tears from his cheeks. Even then, all he does is ask, “You want some water now?”

“Alright,” Armitage says, sighing the word like talking takes more effort than he can muster. He can’t even bring himself to care that he sounds so weary.

Ben pulls away slowly, moving like he’s trying not to spook a stray cat, and helps Armitage sit up. Armitage can’t bear to make eye contact with Ben but he doesn’t miss the way Ben’s lips quirk up, pleased that Armitage is cooperating. He settles Armitage against his headboard and reaches across him to grab the glass. Their fingers brush as he hands it over. The contact isn’t electric, not like the first time they touched. It’s comforting instead, like Ben does this all the time for Armitage, has taken care of him before and would do it again in a heartbeat and Armitage is _convinced_ he’s reading too much into it.

Then Ben goes, “Hey, look at me?” and Armitage lifts his gaze without thinking. Ben’s face is so open and so sweet; Armitage doesn’t know where the flirty bastard from earlier went and he doesn’t know how he feels about the change. He busies himself with taking a big gulp of the water, hiding behind the glass so he doesn’t have to see the way Ben is looking at him. It doesn’t help. Ben sounds so wonderfully fond when he says, “Good, thank you,” before leaning back against the headboard next to him.

Their shoulders just brush, Ben so warm where they touch. He took off his shirt before joining Armitage in his bed and that skin on skin contact is everything to Armitage, chaste as it is. Armitage can’t help but lean against him, just a little bit. He takes another drink of the water and sighs again.

“You’re a two faced arsehole, Ben Organa, you know that?” Armitage grumbles, his thoughts coming together to be cohesive once again.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Armitage says. “I like it.” He pauses then, softer, hesitant, adds, “I think.”

“Okay.”

Ben’s one word answers should sound short and dismissive but he’s placed his hand on Armitage’s knee, thumb stroking the side of his thigh. His tone is gentle too, like he’s simply acknowledging Armitage’s words, taking them in and passing no judgement. Armitage thinks he appreciates it.

Armitage doesn’t say anything further, just plays with the glass in his hand. It has grooves, a grid etched around it that he runs his fingernails through, over and over like if he repeats the motion enough it will reveal to him the reason for what the fuck just happened. 

“What did you like about it?” Ben asks softly after an eon passes. Armitage doesn’t know how to handle him _asking_ , like his answer truly _matters_. He’s never been much for nice boys, always preferring men who will stand up for themselves. It’s lead to far too many arguments so Ben’s utter calmness, his quiet acceptance of anything Armitage could say, throws him off.

“I like,” he starts, unsure of how to answer, “that you can be just as mean as I am, that you don’t take it to heart.”

“Okay,” Ben says again, then adds, “Do you want me to just be mean?”

That question catches Armitage by surprise. He didn’t expect Ben to offer that, to resume their cruel game like none of this happened. He dares a glance at Ben, peeling his eyes from the glass in his hands for one brief moment. He can’t handle how Ben is just _watching_ him, patient. He should _be_ like this, shouldn’t be soft and sweet like this. He should be flirty and teasing, taking what he wants from Armitage who is so completely willing to give it to him.

He drops his eyes back to his lap and says simply, “No.”

“Okay.”

There’s a pause then, like Ben is waiting for Armitage to elaborate, and it eats at Armitage. He can’t help but murmur, “I don’t get nice.”

“Like, you don’t understand it or you don’t receive it?”

“Both.”

Ben laughs, a little chuckle under his breath. It sounds more like it’s aimed at himself versus him thinking Armitage’s sad little confession is actually humourous. It still makes Armitage’s lips tighten. He feels so out of his depth, confessing his insecurities to a stranger like this, naked in the gloom, heart open and raw. It’s cathartic too, he supposes, like the crying was. The ever present tension in his body is still there but the vice around his heart has eased and he hates that maybe, _maybe_ he might want to keep seeing Ben. He would much rather run away and pretend this never happened but the hand on his knee keeps him rooted to the spot. It’s so warm and gentle and _caring_ and Armitage wants it to never move.

“I like enthusiastic consent,” Ben says. “I have fun being forceful but I want to know that my partner is okay with it. Was it me checking in what upset you?”

“I’m not upset,” Armitage grumbles.

Ben sounds amused when he teases, “You were just crying.”

“I’m, I was _overwhelmed_ ,” Armitage tells him, glaring. “There’s a difference.”

Ben laughs at that, sounding so happy, like he _likes_ Armitage being a bastard. He squeezes Armitage’s knee and smiles at him, asking, “Is it what overwhelmed you then?”

Armitage looks away.

“I suppose,” he says. “It was, you just… went back and forth so suddenly. I didn’t know what to expect.” He’s never done well with not being able to predict someone’s behaviour. 

“Okay,” Ben says yet again, and the hand on Armitage’s knee lifts. For one terrifying second, Armitage is convinced Ben is going to leave, going to kick him out and they’ll never see each other again, but Ben just raises his fingers to brush his knuckles against the side of Armitage’s jaw. Armitage’s eyes burn again when Ben says, “I won’t do that next time.”

Armitage crams one hand into an eye socket and pretends he doesn’t sniff. He pulls away, sets the glass back down on the side table too hard, and says, “I should go.”

“No.”

Armitage tenses, face wobbling. Thankfully, he’s turned far enough that he doesn’t think Ben can see.

Ben’s next words flay Armitage to the bone: “Do you really want to leave or are you just scared?”

Armitage bites his lip to seal the denial on his tongue away. The truth is he _is_ scared. He doesn’t know how to handle _this_ , doesn’t know how to handle _Ben_ , doesn’t know how to handle his _own fucking feelings_ and he _hates_ it. 

He must make a noise anyway because Ben goes, “Hey, it’s okay to be scared. Just don’t let it stop you from getting something you want.”

Armitage stays frozen in place on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor with his hands clenched on his knees. He can’t bring himself to get up and he _hates_ it.

“Do you want this?” Ben asks, soft still but almost sad and Armitage _hates_ it. “Do you want _me_?”

Armitage nods and murmurs, “I do.”

“Then lay back down with me.”

Armitage does, lying out next to a still seated Ben. He tucks his face against Ben’s hip, arms folded between his chest and Ben’s thigh, and is absolutely thrilled when Ben’s hand settles on his head again.

“There,” Ben croons. “That’s much better. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> SO. PLAN. if yall follow [my twitter](https://twitter.com/bubblegumspook) uve probably seen that i am incredibly ill so idek how well its gonna go down but ive got like, this whole writing schedule and shit cos my 2021 new years resolution is to write one of the fucking orignal novels ive been planning for a million years and iM GONNA DAMNIT so if u wanna follow my adventures with lesbian vampires, follow [authorsona twitter](https://twitter.com/ehalvord). if i can manage to be functional at some point in the near future there shall be NEWS


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